When did it become so difficult to turn a holiday dream, whether in Spain or
on a British beach, into reality?

No doubt, given the vagaries of the British weather, the sun we enjoyed in recent days will, by the time you read this, have been replaced by cold, grey drizzle. Perhaps not. Perhaps next weekend’s Easter bank holiday will buck the trend of recent years, and supply the sunshine we crave.

More likely not: which might be why, after the grim horror of February, thoughts often turn to summer holidays. Even if we never get around to booking anything, just the thought of being able to spend a week in a city where it doesn’t rain every other day is a tonic for the spirits.

When my friends ask me: “Why did you leave Scotland?”, I almost never tell the fundamental truth, that I couldn’t bear to continue living on the west coast, no matter how much I love Glasgow, because the lack of sunshine and ubiquity of rain that marked my first 25 years on the planet was no use at all for my soul.

PG Wodehouse remarked that it’s never difficult to tell the difference between a Scotsman with a grievance, and a ray of sunshine. If he’d grown up in Ayrshire, he’d have understood why; though I’d also say that it’s never difficult to tell the difference between a man who cavorted with Nazis, and the author of ghastly pig-obsessed, toff-ridden novels. PG Wodehouse books: not a fan. I wonder if the Chancellor enjoys them?

Those of us lucky enough to be able to afford to turn the holiday dream into a reality, however, face a few extra hurdles this year. The GMB union is threatening a strike of its baggage handlers at Stansted airport over the Easter weekend. Oh well, who needs clothes for a beach holiday anyway?

But even if you reduce your travel necessities to a toothpick and a paperback, and manage to take off from the UK, it seems likely that Spanish air-traffic controllers will also down tools over Easter, raising the prospect of flights of scantily clad Brits, congratulating themselves on having beaten the GMB, circling the Canaries for a few hours until the fuel starts to run out and they’re forced to return home, where at least they’ll have access to proper-sized toothbrushes.

So why not holiday at home? It’s not really the weather that gives you pause, so much as the cost. Adults without children, I think, don’t really understand this: it was only when our in-laws and nieces and nephews visited us in London that I realised the things Keith and I take for granted – being able to buy a cup of coffee and a bun while we’re out – becomes an order of magnitude more expensive for a family with children.

So surely – given the recession, with town centre businesses closing almost in real-time, in front of our eyes – we could rely on local and national government to do its bit? It’s a sign of how badly governed we are, that to ask that question is almost to answer it.

I’m not a knee-jerk opponent of HS2. In fact, my instinct is to support any project which reconnects us with the thread of our Victorian engineering excellence – being able to build infrastructure that transforms the country and lasts for centuries is a Victorian value worth celebrating.

But the cost of the new railway line is enormous, and if just a fraction of it were taken and applied to those arteries which join, say, London to Brighton, then we might be able to improve both the connections between major cities which will make business, and so all of us, more profitable, and at the same time do something to help the tourist routes, which are operating – I use the term loosely – already at capacity.

On most weekends you can’t assume that the train from London to Brighton will get you there without interrupting your journey for a fun-filled bus segment, for example, because piecemeal track improvements are being carried out on a shoestring. So perhaps, if you want to holiday at the seaside, you might drive there instead?

Here is where local government steps in to “help”. The cost of parking in Brighton has just gone through the roof; the main city centre car park has raised the price of a day’s parking from eight quid to £25. Those other car parks operated by the Green council have also seen their charges raised.

So for a city which is defined by its tourism potential, the Government doesn’t prioritise infrastructure spending which would allow visitors to reach you on public transport, and the council bends over backwards to make it too expensive to drive into the city. Genius.

You can’t fly to Spain because of strikes, and you can’t go to the seaside because of the cost.

Perhaps you should holiday at home, tucked up from the rain with a good book. A good book, so nothing by PG Wodehouse.